


The Eight Winds of Winter

by ShitMouth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Crossover, Gen, One-Shot, They Dwell Beyond The Wall, narration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 03:38:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15306645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitMouth/pseuds/ShitMouth
Summary: You must go now, my child. I cannot keep you here forever, hearing my stories. It’s about time you went out and saw them with your own eyes. Wherever you go, be strong, this has always been true, and now more than ever. For the winds are blowing, and they may change you too...........................................................................................................................................................This one is a One-shot narration I posted on Ah.com. I didn't notice till now that I had forgotten to post it here, so here you have it, enjoy.





	The Eight Winds of Winter

Seasons have always been an uncertain thing, a fickle affair. Some say that seasons are the gods' way of expressing their fluctuating emotions, for they aren't that different from us humans and cannot help but fall prey to their own whims, thus their always changing nature. Both long and short, warm and cold; harsh and unforgiving spans of time will alternate and take turns with mercyful and pleasant periods of calm and prosperity. Be that as it may, and despite its unpredictable nature, there had always been some slight certainty to this turbulent cycle. No matter if rivers went dry, if clouds flocked over the skies darkening the horizon or if trees decided to strip off their foliaged mantle and don it to the cold soil. No matter how much its surroundings may change, mankind would always remain unchanged, ready and willing to persevere. Hear closely, my impetuous cub: we may be as fragile and easy to cower as the most evasive of creatures; but our spirits, set ablaze by the flames of hope and bravery, grant us free reign over the short and hard periods spent on this land that we call lives. The gods set up their trial and we stand up proud and daring to their challenge. These, lil’ urchin, have always been the ways of the free folk.

 

  

Till the day the earth was shaken.

 

  

Somewhere far to the east, the greatest among the kingdoms of men crumbled and sank amidst smoky chunks into the salt waters. The earth roared with destructive might, and the echoes of said roar were felt far and beyond. North of the free lands, within the realms of winter, the veil cracked; and out of that crack, they poured. Brimming with energy, strange winds came blowing down from the frozen peaks, whispering into people’s ears with a myriad of discordant voices about a myriad of things; about life, about death, about fear, about hope, about desires, about power, about change. And change they did. If there’s something that entices the mighty and weak alike, that’s the promise of easy rewards; and the folks of Thenn, kneelers in all but name, were the first to fall for them.

 

Heeding the call of their magnar, they marched, wielding their bronze weapons; razing and taking everything in their path; many a brave and proved leader met his end at the hands of Sarbnolf and his legions, who claimed each new land for their new demanding masters. Their might was unmatched and their cruelty unparalleled. Joined by countless subjected clans, they grew in numbers, and the magnar directed his gaze to the south; confident in his chances and ready to triumph where his predecessors had failed. If mere mortals had been so close to achieving victory, How could a god among men possibly fail? Alerted by the squawks of the black flock, the wolves came from their den ready to deal with the new threat; and thus, the self proclaimed king of change met his due end at the foot of the huge wall of ice, torn apart by their fangs. With Sarbnolf’s host crushed, the kneelers returned to their fortresses, content with their victory.

 

But that victory wasn’t more than a mere illusion. The seeds of change had already been sown, and once they had taken root, nothing could stop them from growing their grotesque fruit. The Thenns hadn’t been the only ones to be allured by the whispering voices. Throughout the free lands, old beliefs were forsaken and replaced with new ones; numerous altars were erected for sinister purposes; people gathered around them, and there; on the hills and deep inside the caverns, sacrifices were performed and horrific gifts were granted. This wasn’t limited to the inhabitants: the trees, the soil, the rivers, the beasts; the free lands had forever been altered, their natural condition blown away by the winds that never cease.

 

Perched atop their wall, the crows were content to limit themselves to watch everything unfold from above with indifference. The threat had already been taken care of, the realms of the kneelers were free from all danger; it wasn’t their concern. Or so they thought. Cause you should know, my child, that crows are creatures of the air, and unbeknownst to their leader, some of them had been quite receptive to what the breezes had to say. Listening as intently as you are doing right now, they acquired knowledge, which they were eager to share with more of their peers; and soon they became careless with their secret. Their chief learnt of this and demanded them to put a stop to their practices, but his orders fell on deaf ears. No sooner had he said this than he was met with defiance, for curiosity had given way to greed, and their greed had made them arrogant. The crows cawed at each other, and grew restless with each passing night; it wasn’t long before their discord reached its peak and they decided to settle their quibble by force. The fight was bloody and merciless; the sky obscured by their feathers, dyed red with the blood of their brothers. Soon enough, the traitors gained the upper hand and backed their brethren into a corner. Surrounded, their leader squawked, and once more, the wolf went up north.

  
And thus, order was brought back to the flock. But the price had been high, for the wolf had perished during the fight, pecked to death by the treacherous crows; his pelt looted and his fangs taken as trophy. Persecuted, the traitors batted their wings and, guided by their precious winds, flew away; far away, to the distant north. Some nested on the mountains, others settled their homes inside the caves, and the rest chose the land of Thenn as their new domain. And wherever they came, they mingled, spreading their dark knowledge with their dark wings; continuing the deed that Sarbnolf had left unfinished. The free lands had changed indeed.

 

...

  

 

Now everything is different, there’s no place that hasn’t known the cold kiss of steel or the red mantle of blood. The beasts have adopted all kind of hideous guises. The work of the skinchangers, of that I'm sure; their numbers increasing with each season, it’s been long since they decided to ignore the taboos. Nobody listens to the woods witches anymore; to the few of us that are left, anyway. The winds have grown louder, rendering most of us deaf to the voice of the weirwood trees. Even I have trouble hearing it. But I wonder, Is it me who’s going deaf or is it them who have ceased to speak? Have you seen the weirdwood out there, my child? Have you seen its face? It wasn’t always that way. Seeing it now, with its twisted semblance, I cannot help but fear for the worst. You must go now, my child. I cannot keep you here forever, hearing my stories. It’s about time you went out and saw them with your own eyes. Wherever you go, be strong, this has always been true, and now more than ever. For the winds are blowing, and they may change you too.


End file.
